Chapter 1
Luke
Saturday, May 4, 2013 - Denver, Colorado
I had never been so glad to get out of my car as I was the day I arrived in Denver. I grabbed my ancient L. L. Bean backpack from behind my seat and groaned out loud as I stood up to stretch my legs. I handed the keys to the valet and pointedly ignored the skepticism in his expression. I waved off his offer to carry my bags, retrieved my large, nondescript duffel bag from the back of my dust-covered Jeep Wrangler, handed a couple of dollars to the man who looked like he wasn’t relishing the thought of climbing into my dirty, nearly ten-year-old car, and headed toward the hotel’s front door.
I started to reach for the door, but before I could grab the handle, a bellman beat me to it.
“Welcome to the Ritz Carlton, sir”
I nodded at him as I walked into the luxurious lobby and headed for the front desk.
“Checking in,” I said to the man behind the counter, whose trendy eyeglasses looked like they’d come direct from Italy and whose suit — I shit you not — looked like it had been handmade.
“Welcome to the Ritz Carlton. The last name on your reservation, please?”
“Callaway. First name Luke.”
I watched the man’s eyes widen slightly as he read the information on the screen and read it a second time to confirm. When he spoke, there was a greater tone of deference in his voice.
“We have you in our Ritz Carlton Suite — our largest and most luxurious. The reservation appears to be open ended, Mr. Callaway. Do you know how long you’re planning to stay with us?”
“Not yet. At least a week, as long as you don’t need the room before then.”
“We’re happy to accommodate you for as long as you like, sir.”
I smothered a laugh. I’d had a feeling that they didn’t have people lined up around the block to pay nearly a grand per night for their fanciest suite. I probably shouldn’t have booked the biggest suite, but I felt like splurging.
“I’ll have one of the valets take your bags up and show you around your home for the week, if you’d like, sir.”
“Nah. I can manage.” I was looking forward to seeing the ridiculously enormous set of rooms that I’d be paying for, but I didn’t need people kissing my ass any more than they already were.
“Very good, sir. We’ll just authorize your card, which will put a hold of four hundred dollars on your account. Is that acceptable?”
“Fine.”
“You’re all set. Thank you for staying at the Ritz Carlton, Mr. Callaway. Please let us know if there’s anything we can do to make your stay more enjoyable.”
“Will do,” I said, as I took the card key and headed for the elevators. I was looking forward to the view.
The room was ridiculous and I loved it. I wondered what my buddies from college would think if they could see me at the moment that I walked into the rooms that, at over three thousand square feet, were twice as big as my condo back in Flagstaff. They’d be envious for a minute, I realized, until they realized where my newfound wealth had come from. I shook my head, determined not to wallow in self-pity any longer than I already had.
I was going to be grateful for the good things in my life — more money than I ever thought I’d see, a job that was flexible enough to give me an indefinite leave of absence to sort out the bombshell that my parents had dropped on me, and…well, I couldn’t really think of anything else that was good in my life at the moment. The huge gaping hole — the center of my life that had been ripped away a week ago — kept me from feeling terribly sunny.
I missed my parents. I was certain that I always would.
I dropped my bags just inside the door and walked over to the huge windows that looked out onto the Rocky Mountains.
“What am I gonna do?” I wondered out loud as I looked into the sun that was about to set just behind the mountains.
I turned away from the window and took a walk through the rooms. There was a dining room with a table set for six people, several seating areas, a bath with a huge soaking tub that looked out over the city and the mountains, and the bedroom…wow. It was a shame that I’d be sleeping in that big bed all by myself.
Grabbing my bags from the living room, I brought them into the bedroom, taking a few minutes to unpack into the dresser and put my suitcase away in the closet. I didn’t see the point of cluttering up such a gorgeous room with my ratty old bag. I pulled a thick folder, embossed with the logo of my parents’ attorney, from my backpack and I headed back out to the living room.
I sat down on the couch that faced the windows, and I flopped the folder onto the cushion next to me. I’d already skimmed the contents of the folder, but I hadn’t taken the time to read the whole thing carefully. I really didn’t want to, but I knew that I needed to. I opened the folder and pulled out a single sheet of paper — a sheet I’d read several times already. The sight of my parents’ signatures at the bottom nearly made my eyes well up with tears, and I was finished crying. I took a deep breath and reread the letter.